


Secondary

by orphan_account



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crime Fighting, Espionage, F/F, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Secret Intelligence Service | MI6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warehouse 13 AU. Myka Bering is an over-worked FBI agent on an anti-espionage detail. HG Wells is an infuriating Secret Intelligence Service agent who exists only to irritate her. And MacPherson is still trying to steal a whole bunch of stuff. Bering and Wells (eventually. C’mon, who doesn’t love the bickering/flirting?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Why are Bering and Wells so good for AUs?

The first time they met, Agent Myka Bering, FBI, had a headache. It started with the lack of coffee in the morning because Claudia had decided the previous day that disassembling the machine was an excellent solution to her boredom and Artie wouldn’t let them leave the building. The headache really got going when Pete decided to use the file as a Frisbee and she gets a face full of paper describing James MacPherson’s years at the University of London.

They were getting close though-to MacPherson. He was selling classified information-how the bastard was getting it, they weren’t too sure-but they would put a stop to it. And they’d take down his buyers too.

Myka was sure of this because this team was  _good._

Even though Pete was now attempting to take his shirt off while Artie tried to cover Claudia’s eyes and Steve protested loudly that  _that’s **really** not necessary._

“Can’t we be professional for  _five minutes?”_ She demanded. valiantly resisting the urge to facepalm-her head might not take the strain.

Of course, that’s when their boss walked in. They all went still as Mrs Frederic stood in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, inscrutable as always. Pete very slowly smoothed his shirt down over his ribs (thank god) and Steve lowered himself back into his chair.

_This is why I need coffee._

_“_ Agent Nielson,” Frederic said matter-of-factly, unperturbed but with a twist of disappointment to her mouth that made them all wilt under her eyes, “This is Agent Wells from the Embassy,”  _Embassy?_ “She wishes to speak with you.” And she was gone, just like that.

In her place was another woman, boot heels clicking against the floor, thumbs looped into her belt, smiling with a sort of confident amusement, like this was all quite the joke. They all wore suits but she was in cream and brown and pinstriped vest.

Her eyes were dark, close to black, when they met Myka’s and she realised she was staring. She felt heat creep up to her face and she resolutely tore her eyes away, focusing on the table in front of her. 

“Hel _lo,”_ Pete smirked.

“Agent Nielson,” A crisp London accent coloured her voice. It was the sort of voice that could crawl under your skin, if you let it, “A pleasure.” She held our a hand to shake. He didn’t take it but glared at her from under thick eyebrows. Her smile grew. Myka decided that she strongly disliked this random English person who had sauntered into their Meeting room like she owned it, like she was certain of _something._ Of everything.

“What does M16 want?” He asked coldly.

“M- _I-_ 6, if you please Agent Nielson.” He glared at her and she spread her hands in the air, “We prefer SIS in any case.” 

“What. Do. You. Want?” He bit each word off, even as Myka processed  _MI6._

“We’re aware you’re investigating James MacPherson  for espionage and murder,” Her eyes slid to the photo of said suspect and Myka resisted the urge to shove it under her folder, “You should know he was one of ours.”

“Of course he was,” Artie sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Was?” Myka asked. Agent Wells shifted her body toward her. She had one too many buttons of her white shirt undone and Myka could see the smooth skin of her collarbone.

Wells shrugged, “Mr MacPherson went rogue. Mightily inconvenient too-to do so in America.”

“So you want us to take him out for you,” Steve surmised, eyes narrowed.

Wells smiled brightly, “I’d prefer to consider it as just us helping each other contain a very dangerous man.”

Artie made a disgusted sound and refocused a sharp glare on her. Wells met it evenly.

Myka tapped her fingertips on top of the table. She didn’t trust this  _spy_ but she had the hunt in her and if the SIS could put them a few steps ahead of MacPherson, they might get him before he stole more information, before he killed again.

They might find out what the guy was doing this for.

“What are you suggesting?” She asked.

Wells reached into her bag and pulled out a thick file and dropped it on the table with a thump.

“Enjoy.” Then she placed a small rectangular card in front of Myka, her hand brushing her shoulder. Myka stiffened as the Englishwoman spoke, still too close, “In case you need to contact me.”

And then Agent Wells left the building as abruptly as she’d arrived.

Muttering to himself Artie went to their white board and wrote ‘UK Secret Intelligence Service’ under the photo blu-tacked there. After a moment he added AGENT WELLS, SIS in black block letters.

Myka shuffled her papers, staring at Wells’ number.  _Why give it to me?_

“…MI6 doesn’t usually do that, right?” Claudia asked.

“She was hot.”

_“Pete.”_


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning after the rather confusing visit from the SIS agent, Myka headed in at seven to find Artie already there, frowning at his computer screen. Sipping at her instant coffee (it was better than nothing and her favourite cafe wasn't open this early), she sat near him, leaning forward to put her weight on her forearm.

“What're you doing?”

“Researching our friend from yesterday,” He replied, “Called in a few favours.”

“Right,” She really didn't want to think about who was giving him these favours, “What'd you find?”

He gestured at the screen, “Agent Helena Wells, age thirty-four. Been with the SIS for ten years. Smart woman-went to Cambridge, has a masters in engineering, recruited straight out of her undergrad.” He drummed his fingers, “Next of kin is a brother, no other family. And that's about it-surface information, nothing more,” He sighed, leaning back, “I'm trying to find a link to MacPherson, but we don't have access to any of her files and the SIS aren't just going to give them to us.”

“It's like trying to get stuff off the CIA,” Pete said, around a mouthful of muffin as he strode in, “Only worse because they're British.”

Myka rolled her eyes and asked, “So why exactly do you think she's connected to him? She didn't have to give us the file.”

He grunted, “Everything we already knew with a few extra minor things to make us think she's on our side. She knows MacPherson-I met her briefly when I was working with him,” his mouth twisted and she really wanted to know what had gone down with that, “He called her HG. They were friendly.”

“So you think that she might be protecting him?” Myka asked.

He shrugged, “I don't know. But she does know more than she's saying and we need all the information on MacPherson we can get.” 

“MI6 won't play ball,” Pete reminded them, licking chocolate off his fingertips.

“Of course they won't,” Artie snapped back.

“Why is she even in the US?” She questioned, grimacing at her partner.

“'Security attache' to the UK Embassy,” His mouth twisted, “I hate spies.” Myka smirked at that, coffee hot and bitter in her mouth.

“Sooo,” Pete drew the word out, “What do we do?”

Artie didn't lift his eyes from the screen, “Myka will call Agent Wells and talk to her. Try to get some answers. The rest of us will continue with our leads. You still have the number?”

She gave him a really look, “Eidetic memory.”

“Right. Go call her. Pete get back to work!”  
Myka wandered down the hall a bit, so she didn't have to listen to Pete talking about the 'hot British spy' and dialled the number Helena Wells had given her. It rang in her ears for several long seconds. Myka couldn't say she'd done this before.

And how the hell is she going to get information out of an unwilling SIS agent? They tended to be damn good liars.

“Wells.”

Myka leaned against the wall, “This is Agent Bering.”

A huff of something close to laughter, “I was expecting at least two days.”

She gritted her teeth, “Really.”

The Englishwoman almost purred back, “What can I help you with, Agent Bering?”

Myka Bering took a deep breath, “I need to go over a few things in the file with you.”

“Righty ho then,” That really shouldn't have been so charming, “Do you know that little cafe a few blocks from the FBI building? The one with the books?”

“Yeah.”

“Excellent! I shall see you at ten then.” Wells said happily. 

“Wait what?” 

The woman laughed, “Agent Bering, I do hope you aren't suggesting we discuss classified files over the phone.”

“No, of course not,” Get it together Bering, she's trying to put you off balance, “You're suggesting to discuss it in public, Wells.”

“Sometimes the best place to hide is right there in the open.”

And she hung up. Myka glared at the phone for a long moment before shoving it back into her pocket. 

Later, when she stepped out of her SUV onto the street, it was hot enough to make wearing her suit jacket uncomfortable, the morning sun seeping into her skin. She unbuttoned it as she strode into the cafe Agent Wells had chosen for their meeting, making sure the material concealed her holstered sidearm and badge. People tended to get nervous when an armed FBI walked turned up for some reason.

She cast her eyes over the heads bent over small tables and cups of coffee. Agent Wells was tucked into a corner, where someone who wasn't looking for her wouldn't see her.

She was staring down at a black notebook, sleeves rolled to the elbow, pen scraping against paper. She looked up as Myka's shadow fell across her, something in her eyes, something sharp-edged and dark that faded quickly as she closed the notebook and carefully laid her pen on top of it.

“Agent Bering,” She extended a hand. They shook. There were stains of blue ink on her fingertips that left faint smudges on the back of Myka's hand, “Please sit.”

Myka lowered herself into the chair, brushing her fingers on the MI6 file on James MacPherson, “What're you doing there?”

Wells smiled slightly, “An experiment of sorts.” She leaned back, folding her hands on top of the notebook, as if to guard it, “Now, what did you require of me?”

Myka put the file between them, “There's a lot of redactions in this.”

Helena Wells raised an eyebrow, “Surely you don't expect us to give you his file in its entirety. We are called the Secret Intelligence Service for a reason, Agent Bering. The FBI should know better.” Their voices were low, conversational. Their conversation was easily lost in the hum of the cafe.

“We need everything on him,” Myka insisted, leaning forward. It wasn't going to happen-intelligence agencies loved their secrets and their cloak and dagger-but had to have a lead in. And if it led Wells to underestimate her, all the better.

“I can't give you that and we both know it,” Wells countered calmly, “Think of it as merely a tool to assist you in understanding him. Understand the man and he's yours.”

“Maybe you can help with that,” Myka replied, tilting her head, “You know him, right?”

Wells laughed softly at that, “Agent Nielson sent you to investigate me, did he? He never did trust me. Though, he did trust MacPherson.” The last was sly and cutting.

“I just want to know everything about him that I can,” Myka retorted.

Wells just looked at her. Their eyes caught and she refused to look away. HG's eyes were very dark, almost black and sharp with intelligence.

It was the SIS agent who finally looked away, letting out a breath that was close to a sigh. “You know that Mr MacPherson is capable of terrible acts. I have little I could tell you that you do not already know.”

“You worked with him,” Myka pointed out.

“Oh, how very odd indeed. Two SIS agents working together,” Wells shot back, smirking as if to say your move. 

“You know him,” Myka pointed out.

“As does Arthur Nielson,” Something close to rage passed briefly over her face, so quickly Myka nearly missed it, “I want James MacPherson in prison as much as you do.”

“What did he do to you?” Myka asked curiously.

Wells smiled wryly, “He betrayed the people I work for. Do I need any other reason?”

“What happened?” She asked, a hint of frustration flavouring her voice. There was a lot MI6 wasn't saying and Myka hated it when this sort of thing happened. It was hard enough working with another American agency, let alone a bloody British one.

The amusement was there in full force, “If I told you that, Agent Bering, I'd have to kill you. And that would be a shame.”

Myka let out an annoyed huff and Wells sipped from her tea cup, eyes glittering as she watched her. Myka's phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, giving the Englishwoman an apologetic glance.

Mykes, you better get back here ASAP. Claudia. 

“I've got to go,” She began. And then Agent Wells leaned forward and snagged the phone from her hands and set it beside her own, calmly tapping into it.

Myka stared at her, “What are you doing.”

“I may need to contact you, now that we're hunting the same man,” She replied matter-of-factly.

“This how you normally get a woman's number?” Myka asked dryly, not sure whether to be charmed or annoyed. Maybe both. She held a hand out for her phone.

Wells placed it in her palm, fingertips brushing against her wrist, “Only if she wants me to, Agent Bering.”

And then she was walking out, leather jacket folded over her arm, notebook clasped in the other fist, leaving Myka sitting there with her phone in her hand and James MacPherson's file sitting in front of her. On her phone there was a new contact under HG Wells.

Woman just had to have the last word. 

Predictably, when she arrived back at the office, Pete wanted to know all about 'her date with the hot English spy'.

“One,” Myka said, dropping her jacket onto the back of her chair and swinging to glare at her partner who grinned in that (somewhat charming) boyish way of his, “It wasn't a date. I'm not you. Two, we talked about work. I'm not you.”

“Ouch,” Pete declared, clutching his chest like she'd stabbed him.

Myka rolled her eyes, “What was the hurry get back here?”

“We've got a ping,” Claudia answered, “Let's go!”


End file.
